Weaponized
by Catherineusa
Summary: Fringe Division is faced with another weapon of mass destruction, and Peter Bishop continues his quest for answers.


**PROLOGUE**

The alarm was silent.

"Officers, we have a possible 406 at 52 Second Street."

Officers Davies and Wolfe had just returned to the squad car after grabbing a quick bathroom and coffee break. "This is Officer Davies. We're on it," a tall, balding man in his mid forties responded into the squad radio. He turned to his junior partner. "This ought to be interesting."

"Finally," said Wolfe. "I thought that I was going to have to listen to your Desert Storm stories all night."

"Hey, kid. Have some respect for your elders."

Wolfe grinned. "I try, Grandpa." Wolfe was two decades younger than Davies. They liked to tease one another; but actually, the young man had nothing but respect for his battle worn partner.

They pulled the squad car to the curb along a stone wall and quietly exited the vehicle; each man had his pistol drawn. The three story townhouse was dark and silent. If not for a street light across the street, they wouldn't be able to see anything at all. Wolfe turned on his flashlight as they walked around the back where it was even darker. Davies retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to try the doorknob. It was unlocked. They entered slowly, their backs against the wall. The short corridor led to a kitchen on the left and a laundry room on the right. They entered each room of the townhouse together: Wolfe shined his light from wall to wall, corner to corner, until they were satisfied that that room was vacant. After checking every room thoroughly, Davies lowered his weapon. "They must have already left. I don't see anything out of place. You?"

Wolfe shook his head to indicate that he did not.

"Go call in an update. I'll lock up here."

Officer Wolfe turned to walk back downstairs. He was slightly out of breath, which made him think he'd better cut back on doughnuts and hoagies for awhile. Back on the ground level, he passed the door, which was ajar, to the basement and thought briefly that he heard a sound like furniture scraping across a hard, slick floor. They'd searched the basement already. Nothing. Probably I imagined that noise, Wolfe thought, but his curiosity- or was it his instinct- made him raise his gun and decide to check it out again anyway.

He descended each step guardedly, until he landed on one that creaked. He froze and turned on his flashlight. No element of surprise now, he reasoned and beamed the light around the half furnished, half storage room. He'd always been especially skilled at that childhood game, "What's Wrong with This Picture?" That door, he thought, it hadn't been visible before. What had? The desk, he decided, it'd been moved. And the floral tapestry that had hung on the wall behind it now lie on the desk itself. Wolfe edged toward the newly discovered door, turned the knob slowly, and then thrust the door open wide. It was pitch black inside. Whoever was there had the advantage, Wolfe concluded. He flashed his light into the room and gaped in horror as the light illuminated a head resting in a steel tray on a big, black table. At once the eyes of the head popped open and blinked at him. Officer Wolfe gasped and stumbled backward, bumping into a man, and knocking his own pistol across the floor. Relief washed over him when he realized that the man hovering above him was his partner, Davies.

"I'm sorry that you saw that, kid," Davies said, drawing a gun and aiming it at Wolfe's head.

"What is this?" Wolfe asked incredulously, rising to his feet and taking a couple steps back. He heard the muffled sound of a bullet being fired from a gun with a silencer, and a hole appeared between Davies's eyes. The tall man slumped to the basement floor, gray liquid oozing from his wound. Wolfe felt the assassin's movement before he saw him; another tall man, wearing a black ski mask and a black windbreaker, rushed at him out of the dark room, and the two of them wrestled on the floor. Wolfe stretched toward his weapon, which lay about three inches out of reach. The darkly clad figure penned him, yanked off one leather glove, and punched him hard in the face several times. Pain radiated through Wolfe's head. He felt blood dripping from his nose. Heat flushed through his body; his stomach felt instantly queasy; his field of vision filled with a bright light, and he knew that he was about to pass out- then came the next blow.

**1**

"Pizza, everyone," Peter Bishop announced as he entered his father's laboratory at Harvard University. "Pepperoni, extra cheese, for Olivia, Astrid, and me. Barbecue and mushrooms and anchovies for Walter." Peter shook his head. Could his father's food cravings get any stranger?

Olivia smiled at him as though she knew what he was thinking. "You know, pizza at two o'clock in the morning isn't conducive to a good night's sleep. "

"No," Peter replied, setting his pizza boxes on a table and walking close to the attractive blonde. "But unless you can convince Walter to let this go until morning- I mean, daylight- I think we're all stuck here."

Dr. Bishop, a man in his mid sixties, had been peering intently into a microscope at a sample of Peter's blood. At Peter's last remark, he looked up at his son. "Well, excuse me for trying to save your life- our lives- the lives of billions of people in both universes, before it's too late."

"I understand, Walter," Peter said, trying to calm his father. Walter had been slightly irritable since his former partner and friend, William Bell, had died, again. "You'll figure it out, Walter. You always do," Peter added. "It's just that we've had a long week, chasing soul vampires and taking LSD trips inside Olivia's mind- life per usual in Fringe Division. I slept after we got Olivia back, but tripping took a larger toll than I'd realized. I'm wiped."

"You guys go home," said the petite, young, black woman standing next to Dr. Bishop. "I'll stay with Walter."

"Are you sure, Astrid?" Olivia asked.

"Yeah, you two deserve a break. Go get some sleep."

Peter grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her along with him, hastening to make their exit. "You don't have to tell me twice. Thanks, Astrid. Good night, Walter."

Peter heard Walter's "Good night, son," as he was closing the door behind them.

Without hesitation, Peter pulled Olivia into an embrace and kissed her deeply. "I've wanted to do that all night."

"What stopped you?" Olivia teased.

"Walter. And Astrid. It still freaks me out the way they grin at us whenever we're together."

"Yeah. They're happy for us." Olivia rested her forehead against his.

"Yeah. They're happy for us." He gazed into her hazel eyes and grinned. "So, you want to have a drink chez moi? Walter's going to keep Astrid here past sunrise, and there's some leftover Kig ha farz and crepes in the fridge."

Olivia mirrored his smile. "I'll gain ten pounds just smelling that."

"Sugar, fat, and starch- Walter Bishop's primary food groups."

She nodded and gently kissed his lips- then her cell phone rang. The two lovers frowned and released each other. "Dunham. Yes sir, we'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Peter groaned. "I hate the FBI right now."

**2**

Peter had witnessed the scene a hundred times over the last three years: blue lights flashed and a half dozen uniformed officers stood blocking off the street. Olivia showed her badge and was allowed to drive through. They parked next to a stone wall across from their destination.

"Hello. Walter Bishop." Dr. Bishop shook hands with the patrolman maintaining crowd control on the street outside the crime scene. "Hello. Walter Bishop," he said to two men stringing crime scene tape to seal off a perimeter.

Peter smiled and shook his head. "Walter." He reached out his left arm and wrapped it around his father's back like a mother guiding a four year old away from the toy section at the local department store.

The townhouse was three stories high, crimson brick, and had black, iron bars on the lower windows, designed to look decorative. A stone wall bordered the sidewalk across the street, separating the road from a small park.

Colonel Phillip Broyles, a tall black man with angular facial features and a bald head- the commander of the FBI's Fringe Division - descended the front steps to meet his team and proceeded to talk and walk them inside to the crime scene itself. "At a quarter past midnight a silent alarm was activated at this residence. Officers Davies and Wolfe responded. Davies is dead, shot point blank in the head."

Agent Dunham frowned. "Well, that's tragic, but what does a cop's murder have to do with Fringe Division?"

"That's what you're about to see." Colonel Broyles motioned for them to precede him down the basement stairway. "Everyone, out," Broyles ordered personnel milling about the room. Once they were alone, he pulled back the sheet covering the slain officer's body. "Look."

Officer Davies lay on his back. A conspicuous mixture of mercury and blood had collected around the wound between his eyes, trickled down his cheeks, and created small splatters on the floor.

"A shape-shifter," Peter said finally.

Broyles nodded. "According to Officer Wolfe, he thought he heard a noise down here and investigated. He found a door, previously concealed." Broyles advanced to the open door. "When Officer Wolfe shined his flashlight into this room, he saw a head in a tray on that table, and now-"

"It's gone," Peter finished.

"Yeah, it's gone. On a hunch I had somebody check on Newton's body."

"Let me guess," Agent Dunham said, "it's gone too."

Colonel Broyles sighed. "Somehow, they got passed the strictest security FBI could offer." The frustration was evident in his voice. They'd all felt it lately, building each time Walternate and his soldiers manipulated them and then vanished.

Peter rubbed his stubble chin. "It wouldn't be hard to get passed any type of security when you can shape shift into whomever you want."

"All right, so where does dead shape-shifter Davies come in? And how did the head get missing after Officer Wolfe found it?" Olivia asked.

"After Officer Wolfe saw the head, he was startled," Broyles explained.

"Imagine that," Peter said.

"He backed into Officer Davies and dropped his weapon," Broyles continued, "That was when the shape-shifter aimed a gun at Wolfe and would have killed him if not for the intruder."

Olivia had stuck her head into the small storage room but spun around on Broyles last word. "Intruder?"

"Yes, evidently, an intruder had triggered the alarm and was hiding in this room when Officer Wolfe investigated the noise. The intruder shot Davies. Wolfe and the man struggled until the officer was knocked unconscious. When Davies and Wolfe failed to check in with dispatch, reinforcements arrived, but there were no signs of the intruder or the head."

"Any description on the intruder?" Olivia asked.

"Nothing terribly helpful. He was tall, about six one, six two; lean build; wore black: a ski mask, windbreaker, t- shirt, leather gloves, and jeans. We did get one break though. Officer Wolfe scratched him during the scuffle, and we have a small blood sample- type A- positive. Ring a bell?"

Both Olivia and Walter's eyes widened, and they looked at Peter, who answered Broyles's question. "Type A- positive. The same blood type as the guy who killed the shape-shifters from Fauxlivia's list."

"There's more than one person in this world with A- positive blood," Walter sputtered. "Indeed, I myself have type A- positive blood. It could have been almost anybody."

"Not everybody with type A- positive blood has an affinity for killing shape-shifters," Colonel Broyles replied.

"Have we contacted the owners of the townhouse? Got a name?" asked Agent Dunham, changing the subject.

"The house belongs to Dr. Hathcock, Professor of Biochemistry at Harvard. We haven't been able to locate him."

"Don't turn your back on him if you do," Peter said. "Olivia and I can interview his friends and associates at Harvard."

"You do that," Colonel Broyles said. "I'll let you know if we come up with anything further. Dr. Bishop, would you like for us to transport the body to your lab? We need you to extract and examine the shape-shifter's disc."

"You mean it's still there? Oh, then yes, yes, please," Walter answered. "As I said the intruder could have been anyone."

**3**

Peter could almost feel Walter and Olivia's glares burning into the back of his neck as they returned to Olivia's black Ford Eclipse. Once the three of them were inside the car with the doors shut, he braced himself. As expected, Olivia turned to face him. "Peter, what were you doing here last night? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Can we table this discussion until we get back to Harvard? I have something there that will make everything crystal clear. And I was going to tell you, but there hasn't been an opportune moment."

"Wait a second," Walter said from the back seat. "She knows?"

"He knows?" Olivia asked, her agitation clearly registering on Peter's "I'm in deep crap" meter.

"Yes, he knows. He caught me in the act of procuring the last disc."

"Walter, you knew all this time? I was at your house that night." Her voice was strained. "I thought I was commiserating our mutual frustration over always being a step behind, and you never said a word."

"I asked him not to say anything, Olivia."

"Olivia," Walter leaned on the back of Peter's seat to see her face. "It wasn't Peter's fault. That machine did something to him, in the hangar when Peter first came into contact with it, it… it weaponized him somehow."

"Don't make excuses for him, Walter."

"I'm not making excuses for him."

Both Peter and Olivia regarded Walter skeptically.

"I'm not making excuses for him. You saw how that machine responded to him. You saw for yourself how it made his nose bleed. We have no idea of what that thing is capable or of what it will ultimately do to my son."

"You don't have to defend me, Walter. I can speak for myself." Peter rubbed his forehead. Too little sleep and too much stress- his head was killing him. "Can we start up the car now? Broyles is going to wonder why we're sitting here all this time, and the shape-shifter's corpse is going to beat us to the lab."

**4**

Olivia and Peter left Walter in his lab with Astrid. Shape-shifter Davies had arrived the same time they did, and Walter was quickly engrossed in dissecting the half man-half machine. Peter fumbled through his key ring for the correct key to his lab in the engineering department at Harvard University. "You may not remember this, but when I brought you here before, I was telling you how I couldn't break the code for the five shape-shifter discs. It was then that William Bell's consciousness took control of your body. He told me that the decoder key was in his office at Massive Dynamic." Peter closed the door behind them and led Olivia to his desk. "It took quite a bit of searching, but…" Peter pressed on the computer. "I found it." The five discs connected to the back of the computer hummed and radiated a blue-green aura as energy pulsated through them into the computer. Suddenly the screen began to flash data: maps, satellite pictures, and photos of people- police officers, FBI agents, government officials, and Massive Dynamic personnel.

Olivia placed both hands on Peter's desk and leaned close to study the images. "They have infiltrated everywhere- even the FBI." A picture of a heavyset, middle aged woman displayed on the screen. Olivia gasped. "Mrs. McKinney! Our housekeeper!"

"Even our underwear drawers aren't safe."

Peter's attempt to relax her failed. Mrs. McKinney had been cleaning both Olivia's apartment and the Bishop house for the past eight months.

The next picture in the little slideshow was of a well coiffed brunette in her thirties. "Oh my God!" Both of Olivia's hands quickly rose to touch her lips. "Carolyn Anderson. She lives in the apartment next to mine- a teacher." Olivia sat down. "Peter, she babysat Ella!"

Peter dragged a hard, wooden chair next to Olivia and sat down as well. He set his hand gently on her back between her shoulder blades. "It gets worse."

Olivia propped an elbow on the desk and rubbed her forehead with her finger as photo after photo of people close to her and the Bishops flashed onto the computer monitor: the FBI agent whose office was next to hers, one of the security guards at Massive Dynamic, a waitress at Walter's favorite restaurant, two Senators on the National Security Council who received continual briefings from Colonel Broyles- boy, they surely hadn't waited long to replace Senator Van Horn, Peter thought- lots of police officers and Massive Dynamic personnel who all looked familiar to Peter, but whose names he didn't know. "I'd say they have us surrounded," he said.

The stress and trauma of the last year was beginning to show on Olivia's face. The little crinkle in her brow between her eyes, two little indentions that looked like bird tracks- they hadn't been there long? Peter tried to remember. She kept her long, straight hair pulled back into a tight ponytail most of the time now. Peter wished he could help her relax more. She deserved to be happy.

"Peter, look!"

The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigations grinned at them from the screen.

"I told you that it gets worse."

"We've got to inform Broyles," Olivia stood and had her cell phone to her ear before Peter even realized that she'd yanked it out of her pocket. "Sir, it is imperative that we meet as soon as possible." She paused. "Can you make it any sooner, sir, the security of Fringe Division is at stake?"

Peter stood. "Olivia."

She nodded at him but clearly was trying to tune him out at the same time.

"Olivia. I'm not sure it's a good idea to-"

She furrowed her forehead and held up one palm to stop him from interrupting further. "Okay, I'll meet you there in an hour then."

"Olivia," Peter continued when she had returned the phone to her pocket, "I'm not sure that it's a good idea to bring Broyles in on this…at least not yet."

"Why?" Both her voice and her expression revealed a hint of irritation.

"We have a substantial list of shape-shifters who have taken the identities of people close to us, many who have access to our investigations. And I have a sneaky suspicion that list is expanding exponentially. How do we know who we can trust?"

The firm set of her jaw told Peter that she wasn't convinced.

"The breach in Fringe Division's security is precisely why we have to tell Broyles immediately."

Peter shook his head.

"He's in charge," Olivia continued, "not us. He watches our backs."

"Exactly, he watches our backs. Who's watching his? One reason that we're always a step behind is because we always- almost always- follow protocol and pass things through proper channels. We cannot risk them learning what I've uncovered. Not yet. If they realize that I have decoded the discs and have this information, they'll be gone without a trace. Back to square one: reactive, not proactive."

"Not necessarily."

"Look, we know who many of the shape-shifters are already. We can surveillance them. There are five locations designated on the discs. When I checked out the first one, I found Newton's head. Four more to go, then we'll tell Broyles. Any sooner and we risk exposure."

Olivia still didn't look completely convinced.

"Olivia, please."

"I have to tell Broyles something. I'm meeting him at the Commons in an hour." She stared at him for a moment. "Okay. I'll tell him that you deciphered information using Fauxlivia's files, which led us to more shape-shifters who have infiltrated positions at top levels of government agencies, including the FBI. The truth, with a few discriminating details left out. I'll try to convince him to give us time before briefing anyone or documenting this, because you think the advantage of surprise is crucial in finding Newton, and you're concerned that security will be compromised if more people are brought in on this." She shrugged her shoulders. "That's the best that I can do."

"It'll have to suffice then." Peter released a long breath. He was exhausted and arguing with her had made him feel it. "Thank you, Olivia. I just need to investigate these four locations fully and follow any leads I might find- whatever it takes, by legal means or-"

"What are you hoping to find exactly?" The crinkle in her forehead returned, and that vulnerability which Peter secretly found so compelling welled in her beautiful green eyes.

"Answers- about the machine: what it does; how it works; why it responds only to me; what Walternate's plans are now that I'm back over here."

"All right. I promise to buy you some time. But, Peter, you have to trust someone, eventually."

"I already have- you."

**5**

The Boston Harbor Shipyard and Marina was busy. Peter donned a pair of Ray-Bans, sat at a vacant picnic table, and hid behind _The Boston Globe_, but he still felt exposed. The shape-shifters knew him, he thought. That was an understatement. He was Peter Bishop after all, the only son of the Secretary of Defense from over there. He was the only one who could activate the doomsday machine. The one, evidently, who determined which universe would survive. Of course the shape-shifters knew him. He had killed seven of them personally.

Peter's thoughts were interrupted when he caught sight of Chris Holland, an electrical engineer who worked at the shipyard - and a shape-shifter. Holland was alone, and Peter decided to follow him. He was careful to stay at least twenty yards back. Better to lose Holland than to be spotted by the shape-shifters. He could always come back at night, but he was feeling more and more impatient.

Holland walked down the dock and climbed aboard a large, luxury motor yacht, the _Lady Elizabeth. _Peter felt a sharp pang of regret when he read the name. His mother was Elizabeth Bishop. He had left the other universe, her universe, without a word. There wasn't time to tell her goodbye, to explain how he was in love with this incredible woman- this incredible woman from an alternate reality. There also wasn't time to tell her how Walternate, her husband, his father, had lied to him, brought him back for the sole purpose of destroying Olivia and Walter's world. Well, he wouldn't do that. He could never do that. There had to be another way.

Certainly he couldn't follow Holland aboard the _Lady Elizabeth_ in broad daylight. But, it would be dusk in a few more hours. He'd come back then, and in the meantime, he'd do some research. Who owned the yacht for instance? Maybe he'd even discover the builder and get a layout of the boat before tonight. Information was power. Finally, he felt like he was taking control of his life- taking control of his destiny, if there really was such a thing.

Peter's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID; it was Olivia. "Hi. How'd it go with Broyles? Good. A little more time is all that I need. Okay. Will you interview Dr. Hathcock's friends and coworkers by yourself? I'm working on a lead. I can tell you more later. Let's meet at the lab in a couple hours." He smiled. "Walter's lab." He laughed. "Full disclosure. Always, Olivia. I promise."

**6**

When Peter arrived at the lab, he found Walter preoccupied again with studying the sample of his blood, this time using the electron microscope. Peter laid his hand gently on Walter's slumped shoulder trying not to startle him.

"Peter. There you are. Any progress finding Newton?"

"Maybe. I don't know yet. How about you, anything noteworthy about Davies's disc?"

Walter shook his head and scribbled in a notebook lying beside the microscope.

"How about my blood- any breakthroughs there?"

"I'm afraid not. Massive Dynamic has sequenced your DNA, but it doesn't reveal anything unusual. No indication of why the machine responds to you." Walter's speech quickened. "DNA-based robotics is nothing new. Researchers with Dr. Townsend's group have successfully programmed microscopic robots to follow instructions in regards to movement, but the movements were rudimentary and on a molecular scale. They automated the movement of a strand of DNA along a track; hardly equivalent to a massive machine operating in a symbiotic relationship with a human being to create or destroy universes. This technology simply does not yet exist."

Peter squeezed Walter's shoulder, hoping to calm him. "And yet, it does exist, created by the First People in the age of the dinosaurs. How could the First People have had access to my DNA?" Peter pondered. "Time travel?"

Walter gazed off into space for a moment, looking as though he remembered something upsetting. Finally he snapped back into the present. "I simply don't know, son. I suppose that it's possible. We know that the Observers travel through time."

"Could the Observers be the First People?" Peter asked.

"At this point, Peter, anything is possible."

The lines in Walter's face were etched with guilt and worry. Peter decided to change the subject. "Where's Astrid?"

As if on cue Astrid entered with a strawberry milkshake. "Here you go, Walter." She placed the tall, clear glass on the table next to Walter's microscope and smiled at Peter. "Brain food."

Peter smiled back at her. "Well, for Walter anyway."

"Thanks, Asteroid," Walter said and sipped the milkshake hungrily from a straw.

Astrid rolled her eyes, and Peter shook his head. Would he never get her name right? Sometimes, Peter decided, Walter "forgot" Astrid's name as a game, a token of his affection for her. Love or lunacy? It was difficult to tell.

"Working hard, Peter?" she asked sweetly, but sarcastically- a feat possible only for Astrid.

"I'm waiting for Olivia. We agreed to meet here."

"Have you any leads on Newton?"

"Perhaps. I was able to use Fauxlivia's data to gain intel on more shape-shifters."

"Really," Astrid sounded surprised. "I went over those files with a fine tooth comb, and I didn't see anything. How did you decode the data?"

Peter was trying to think of a way to evade the question when Olivia arrived. "Hi," she said to everyone, but especially to Peter. "So, what did you find?"

"I followed one of them to a yacht docked at the Boston Shipyard and Marina. The _Lady Elizabeth_." Peter noticed that Walter flinched at the name, but he went on. "I intend to go back there tonight."

"Okay, good work. I'll call Broyles and we'll get a team ready for backup."

"Olivia, I can't take a chance that somebody will tip the shape-shifters off. I have to do this alone."

"No, Peter. It's too dangerous," Walter objected.

"Peter. You can't do this alone. At least let me go with you," Olivia said.

Peter smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Are you guys sure that you shouldn't inform Broyles? What if something goes wrong? You need someone there to watch your backs," Astrid argued.

Peter touched Astrid's arm and lowered his voice. "We have reason to believe that the shape-shifters have penetrated high levels within the Bureau and are masquerading as people close to Fringe Division." Astrid's eyes widened. "I don't mean to make you paranoid," Peter continued, "but you and Walter should be cautious; regard everyone with suspicion."

"Even Gene?" Walter asked alarmingly.

Gene, Walter's test subject turned pet, mooed at the sound of her name, and every head turned to look at her.

"Well," Peter said, "I suppose that Gene is safe."

"Thank goodness," Walter said.

The sincerity of Walter's relief caused Peter to think, I love you, Walter. His dad wore his emotions on his sleeve; something that Peter could never do. The childlike vulnerability endeared the man to Peter and appealed to the protective instincts of the young man's nature.

**7**

Astrid drove Walter home. He wanted to bake some homemade chicken pot pie for Peter and Olivia to eat after they returned from the marina. Chicken pot pie and Walter's special recipe for Russian tea. "I have a secret ingredient," Walter had told them. "Guaranteed to help you relax after a stressful day at work."

Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his aching temple. Knowing Walter, that secret ingredient was illegal in thirty-four states.

Peter stuffed clothes into his duffle bag, zipped it up, and placed it on the floor. Straightening, he noticed the Selectric 251 typewriter on the desk. He'd stared at that typewriter every day since they confiscated it from the store that Fauxlivia and the shape-shifters had used as a front to communicate with the other side, with his father.

Peter placed his fingers on the keys of the Selectric in home position: A, S, D, F, J, K, l, ; A universe apart, but this typewriter and the one on the other side were quantum entangled. Whatever he typed on this one would type on his father's Selectric over there. What would he say? Peter wondered. After all that has happened, what would he say to the man who was his father … and his enemy?

He sat down in the chair in front of the desk and again placed his fingers in the correct positions on the keys. He typed: WE NEED TO TALK.

A knot tightened in Peter's stomach. He feared Walternate- a scientific genius, a powerful man who commanded armies. He looked like Walter, mostly; except he stood straighter, like a general, and he dressed impeccably in tailored suits. He sounded like Walter, except his voice was often icy, authoritative, and calculated. He was brilliant like Walter, but he had none of Walter's softness, warmth, or vulnerability. Somehow Peter could never imagine Walternate making him rosemary chicken soup as Walter did. Peter tried to remember back before Walter had stolen him from the other universe, to the time when he lived with his biological mother and father, but he couldn't. He had been young, yes, but not that young. Why couldn't he remember?

He typed: BILLIONS OF LIVES DEPEND UPON US. WE CANNOT LET THEM DOWN. THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY. – PETER

He waited for a few minutes, then removed the paper from the typewriter and replaced it with a clean sheet. He didn't want Walter to know what he'd done. He bent down and stuffed the paper with his message to Walternate inside his duffle bag just as Olivia came into the room.

"What are you doing in here?" Olivia asked.

"Waiting for you." Peter stood. She was dressed like him, in black jeans and a black t-shirt. "We look like we shop at the same clothing store, Thieves R Us."

"What do you intend to do once we get to the marina," Olivia asked, completely ignoring his last remark.

"If I can get onboard the _Lady Elizabeth_ without being seen, I intend to snoop, or eavesdrop, or both- whatever presents itself. Give me thirty minutes inside. Then if you don't hear from me, come get me, guns blazing."

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary."

"Hopefully," Peter agreed, "But I'll be packing nevertheless."

Olivia must have just noticed the pistol tucked under his belt. "If I checked, would I find that gun registered?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so."

Peter pulled on a black hoodie. "Let's do this."

**8**

Peter hadn't expected it to be this easy to get onboard the yacht. Olivia's badge had allowed them access to the dock itself, and the yacht hadn't been guarded. In fact, no one was on the deck of the big boat besides him. The shape-shifters must be overly confident. Olivia perched on the deck of the yacht beside the _Lady Elizabeth_. According to the maintenance man who was sweeping the picnic area, the owners of the _Liberty_ were away on vacation_. _"Where do people go on vacation away from their yacht?" Olivia had wondered out loud. Peter had shrugged. "Wish I knew."

Lights in Boston's skyscrapers lit the skyline and reflected in the water below. The rank smells of dead fish from the bait and tackle shop mingled with the smells of grilled seafood from the Harbor side restaurant and stirred a faint nausea in Peter's stomach. He listened intently for any movement on the deck, but there was none. Jazz was the music de jour at the bar nearby, and the gentle lapping of water against the dock and against the ship almost lulled Peter into a false sense of calmness. A cold breeze blew in off the Boston Harbor. Peter zipped up his hoodie and pulled the black ski mask over his face. There was a chance, he thought, that the shape-shifters didn't know that he'd been the one at the townhouse on Second Street. There was even a chance that they didn't know he had been the shape-shifter killer earlier this year. Zach Alperts, the last of the five shape-shifters listed in Fauxlivia's file, had known, but had anyone else? Hopefully he had killed Alperts before the shape-shifter had the chance to share his suspicion with anyone.

Stealthily, Peter maneuvered into the bowels of the ship. He heard voices and crept down the stairs and down a hallway in their direction. The adjoining room was empty and dimly lit. Peter slipped inside and crouched behind a bar, the only structure dividing the two rooms. People sat on a couch, their backs only a few feet away from him.

"Has he been briefed by the Secretary?" a male voice asked.

"He's doing that now," a female answered.

The woman's voice was familiar, but Peter couldn't place it. He pressed himself hard against the bar, both to hear well and to wish himself one with the barrier. If the truth were told, he liked living life a bit on the edge, but this was too close to the precipice even for him.

"I understand that Massive Dynamic and the government are only studying the machine. They have no intentions of using it?" the man asked.

"No plans at this time," the woman responded. "Of course, things are a lot better on this side. They don't feel the same sense of urgency that our people do."

"And Peter Bishop?"

"The last thing that Peter Bishop wants to do is strap himself into that machine, on either side."

"Good evening."

Newton had just entered. Peter would never forget that voice. So, the head has found a new home, Peter thought. Great. What next? The return of Dr. Jones? Sort of like the Penguin meets the Joker. Peter almost chuckled at his little joke but caught himself. Jones may be dead, Peter thought, but the world of fringe science had taught him that nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

"I trust that your conversation with the Secretary was enlightening?" the woman said.

"Yes, indeed," Newton responded. "Our work is almost complete. The Secretary wants us to be especially vigilant monitoring their activity around the machine. And, he wants to try one more time to reach out to his son."

Peter shivered, but the chill wasn't because it was cold.

"Well, certainly," the other man said, "Without his son, the machine is useless, and we cannot win this war."

Peter had expected Newton to agree, but instead he said nothing.

Peter checked his watch. He'd better be getting top side fast or things would be getting a great deal more exciting with Olivia's arrival.

**9**

Olivia set a Styrofoam cup full of coffee, black, no sugar, in front of Peter.

"What's this? You getting my morning coffee? It really is the end of the world."

Olivia gave him a tight lipped smile but didn't respond verbally to his ribbing. "Newton said that Walternate is going to try to get you back?"

"No, he said that Walternate wanted to reach out to me one more time. Whatever that means."

"Peter, it's time to bring Broyles in on what's going on."

"Not yet."

"When, then? After Newton and the shape-shifters abduct you, transport you back over there, and strap you into the doomsday machine?"

"Olivia."

Olivia turned away from him. She had a right to be upset. It had been an impossible year, for both of them. Peter walked up behind her, put his arms around her waist, clasping his fingers on her stomach and resting his chin on the top of her head. He surrendered. "Okay. If that's what you think we should do."

She wiped at one eye with her hand before turning around to embrace him. "You're not in this alone, Peter. This isn't just your fight."

Peter smirked, recognizing his own words, previously spoken to Olivia, presently being used on him. "Now where have I heard that before?"

"I wonder." Olivia kissed him on the cheek and rushed out of the lab; her cell phone already in her hand.

"Peter! Peter!" Walter hollered from another room. "Peter!"

When Peter found Walter, he was standing over the Selectric typewriter. Immediately Peter felt that familiar knot in the pit of his stomach. There on the paper was typed: YES, WE SHOULD TALK. MY PEOPLE WILL CONTACT YOU SOON. -YOUR FATHER

Police and ambulance sirens blared outside the Kresge building. Peter's cell phone vibrated. The caller ID read Colonel Broyles. Peter decided to cut to the chase. "You talked to Olivia?" Peter looked at Walter and frowned. "Yeah, I hear the sirens now. All right, we'll probably beat you there." Peter returned the cell phone to his pocket. "Walter, get your bag. Evidently there's a Fringe event here in our own backyard."

Uniformed officers were already preventing anyone from entering. Peter pulled out his FBI Consultant ID. "Peter Bishop, FBI consultant. This is my father, Dr. Walter Bishop."

Peter and Walter were allowed to enter the Harvard School of Public Health. They followed the mayhem of police, medical personnel, and clearly horrified witnesses into room 602A. Four people lie slumped in their chairs and one man lie motionless on the floor. Blood dripped from every orifice. Each corpse had its eyes open wide, apparently fixed in a moment of sudden terror.

Peter winced at the sight. No matter how many Fringe cases he worked, he still couldn't overcome that initial verp impulse upon seeing what new gory, nightmarish death someone had endured. Walter knelt next to a victim, a young Asian man, and began taking samples of the blood leaking from one of his nostrils.

"Déjà vu, Walter?" Peter asked. "Should I be looking for a giant, slimy, spikey slug speeding across the classroom floor?"

"I don't know yet," Walter answered matter-of-factly as he shined a light into the dead man's eyes.

Peter nodded in mock seriousness. He had been kidding. Peter noticed a young, auburn-haired girl crying in a corner of the room. A police woman had brought her a bottle of water and was trying to interview her. He walked over and showed his ID, "Peter Bishop, FBI Consultant."

The police woman recognized Peter and left him to complete the interview alone.

"Marcy Johnson," the girl introduced herself to Peter between sobs. She pulled a Kleenex out of her handbag and dabbed her eyes.

"You witnessed what happened to these people?" Peter asked.

"As I just told her," Marcy said, "it all happened very fast. One minute everyone was fine. The next minute Dr. Kendell was grabbing his stomach and doubled over, obviously in a lot of pain. He couldn't breathe. I and a couple others ran to help him. We pulled over a chair for him to sit down, but, then." She covered her mouth with her hand and new tears trickled down her cheeks.

"But then what?" Olivia joined Peter and Marcy Johnson. "Agent Dunham, FBI. I'm sorry we have to ask you these questions now, but we need for you to help us. What happened next?"

"Blood, blood started pouring out of everywhere- his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his ears. Then the others." She glanced at the four bodies slumped in chairs throughout the room. "The same thing as Dr. Kendell."

Olivia nodded and the corners of her mouth lifted into a half-hearted smile which Peter knew was intended to encourage Marcy that she was being helpful. "Do you know if the victims spent any time together outside of class?" Olivia asked. "Had they eaten or drunk anything?"

"Um, I know that Andrea-" Marcy pointed to a victim, a black youth wearing blue jeans and a Harvard sweat shirt. "Andrea had a meeting with Dr. Kendell before class started. They met about a community health awareness project some of them were working on."

"Thank you," Olivia handed Marcy a card with her name and number. "You've been very helpful. If you remember anything else, please, give me a call." Olivia turned and tapped the shoulder of a familiar Harvard professor speaking with Colonel Broyles. "I need to see Dr. Kendell's office, please." Broyles gave her a questioning look. "At least one of the victims met with Dr. Kendell before class." She explained. "I suspect that the others did too. Perhaps they ate or drank the same thing."

Professor Kendell's office was cluttered with papers and books. "Not the tidy sort," Peter commented upon entering.

There was a paper cup half full of soda on the messy desk. Peter lifted up the trash can and tilted it so that Olivia could see its contents: empty cups, paper plates, and an empty two liter soda bottle.

Walter picked up the cup on the Professor's desk and sniffed it. "Have the bodies and these cups, plates, and soda bottle brought down to my lab," he instructed an FBI Agent who'd taken similar orders from him before.

"All cameras that surveillance the Kreske building- I need that footage. Start with today's," Olivia ordered the same agent.

**10**

Peter entered the back office of Walter's lab, carrying Olivia a cup of coffee. "Black, one sugar."

Olivia looked up from viewing the Kresge surveillance and smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Peter had messed up a few months ago, bringing Olivia a coffee with milk, the way Fauxlivia liked it. He'd never make that mistake again. He sat on the corner of the desk. "What are we looking for?"

"Well, until Walter can tell me what happened to those people, I'm simply checking for red flags- anyone, other than students, who had access to that building today." Olivia shrugged. "That's all we have right now."

"All right, I'll go check on Walter's progress then." Peter kissed Olivia on the top of the head and left to find Walter autopsying the Professor, Astrid assisting by his side. "Any idea what killed these people, Walter?" Peter asked.

"Apparently, they bled to death, some type of hemophilia."

"Hemophilia?" Peter asked doubtingly. "Five people at once?"

"I never said that this hemophilia was typical. The victims all suffered from vitamin K deficiency, which, along with the genetic disorder, would hinder the blood's ability to coagulate. It is, however, extremely rare for females to be affected by this disease."

"But these people had no cuts or injuries, and they all bled out at the same time," Astrid said.

"Quite right, dear. As I said, this condition is atypical- very strange indeed. Cullen's sign is present, bruising around the umbilicus." Walter pointed to the corpse's belly and then continued to talk with his hands, as Walter often did. "There is inflammation throughout the body: major organs, joints, and muscles. These people bled internally, then externally." Walter inserted a sample of the Professor's blood into the electron microscope. "The X-chromosome," Walter hesitated. "Peter, come here. Look at this."

Stepping next to his father, Peter saw on the computer screen what had gotten Walter's attention. Tiny spider-looking creatures wobbled along strands of Professor Kendell's DNA. "Walter, what is that?"

"They're robots."

Peter looked at his father. "Robots? Furrowing his brow, he moved closer to the screen. "They look more like spiders to me."

Hurriedly, Walter prepared a sample of soda from Professor Kendell's cup and put it into the microscope. New images appeared on the computer screen. "This is incredible!"

Peter crossed his arms. There they were- the same little creatures- robots- that were moving through Professor Kendell's DNA.

"So what, do they act like parasites then?" Astrid asked.

"Somewhat. Peter, do you remember what we were discussing yesterday?" Walter asked.

"Um, what we discussed yesterday? Walter, that encompasses everything from shape-shifters to Russian tea."

"Molecular robots, programmed by genetic engineers to travel through the human body on strands of DNA."

"Molecular robots?" Olivia asked walking up behind them.

"Yes." Walter's speech became rushed and animated. "Scientists have been trying to do this for decades. They've been able to program robots to take a few steps through strands of human DNA in a laboratory, but nothing as advanced and sophisticated as this!"

"So, you're saying that someone engineered these parasitic robots to do what?" Olivia asked. "Kill people- from the inside out?"

"Well, I'll have to examine further, but I theorize that someone programmed these robots to destroy or mutate the F8 and F9 genes on the X chromosomes, which caused the hemophilia. The robots probably also attacked the major organs, causing the internal bleeding. Horrible. Simply horrible… but simply brilliant."

"Why have scientists been trying to create robots to kill people?" Astrid asked. "Military?"

"The hope was that these robots could be programmed one day to enter the human body and perform diagnostics and possibly even precision surgery. This technology was intended to help man, not to destroy him. Evidently, someone made the choice to weaponize these machines instead." Walter and Peter exchanged awkward glances.

This was too close to home for Peter: choices, weaponized DNA operated machines, to save or to destroy.

Walter placed his index finger on his chin. "One thing puzzles me though."

"What?" Peter asked.

"Just like the doomsday machine, the technology to do this does not exist."

"Well, not here," Peter said.

"What are you thinking?" Olivia asked.

"The machine was created by the First People, who somehow had an advanced technology back in prehistoric times. Who else do we know that has made advances- medical advances- far beyond those that exist …in our universe."

"Are you suggesting that Walternate is responsible for these robots?" Astrid asked.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Possibly."

"I think you may be right," Olivia said. "That red flag- I found it." She handed Peter the sheet of paper that she had been holding in her hand. "Dr. Hancock, Harvard biochemistry professor and the owner of the townhouse that the shape-shifters were using to store Newton's head. He entered the Kresge building an hour before Professor Kendell and his students met to discuss their community project. A camera caught him going into Professor Kendell's office, alone."

Astrid moved closer to Olivia. "It doesn't make sense. Why would Walternate do this? What does he have to gain?"

"Test subjects," Olivia offered. "Walternate is at war with us. He thinks it's us or them; he believes that only one universe can survive."

"Walternate. Peter, have you told Olivia yet?" Walter asked.

Olivia's facial muscles tensed. "Told me what?"

Peter took a deep breath and leaned against an examination table. "I sent Walternate a message on the Selectric typewriter, and he responded." Olivia's eyes widened. "Apparently, he agrees that we should talk. He said that his people," Peter emphasized that last word with sarcasm and formed invisible quotation marks in the air, "would be getting in touch."

"Peter." Olivia looked worried. "We need to tell Broyles."

**11**

Sitting in a comfortable, cushioned chair in an office at the FBI headquarters in Boston, Peter realized that he'd never seen Colonel Broyles pace before.

"We need raids on the _Lady Elizabeth_ and the other three locations listed on the shape-shifters' discs," Broyles said in his serious, no-nonsense manner.

"Are you sure that you don't want to wait?" Peter asked. "Watch them for a while. If you go in there now, they're going to scatter. What if we miss Newton? The shape-shifters will take new identities and set up business elsewhere."

Broyles looked hard at Peter. "What do you propose that we do if more civilians die from these robots? I'd also like to assign officers to keep an eye on you around the clock. It's obvious that Walternate is about to make a move, probably to abduct you and to force you into the machine over there."

"We don't know that, and I don't need a babysitter," Peter said. "According to Newton, Walternate wanted to reach out to me one more time, and I'd like to try to have at least one honest conversation with the man. Maybe I can reason with him."

Olivia's lips tightened. "Peter, we can't trust him."

"I'm sorry, Peter. I can't take the risks," Broyles said firmly.

Forty-five minutes later, Fringe division simultaneously raided the _Lady Elizabeth_ and three other locations and found nothing. Peter kicked an empty trash can next to the bar where he had hidden and eavesdropped on Newton and the shape-shifters only twenty-eight hours earlier. "They were tipped off. I knew this was going to happen."

"I want this place dusted for prints," Broyles barked at FBI agents in the room.

"Do shape-shifters have fingerprints?" Walter wondered aloud. "I forgot to check."

Broyles's cell phone alerted. "Yeah. When? We'll be there in five minutes."

"What now?" Olivia asked.

"It's happening again- the robots. Ten people in a café at the airport."

Due partially to the late hour and partially to the police sirens, the Fringe team arrived at Logan International Airport in seven minutes. In the Café Et Les Patisseries- a counter and twenty tables where weary travelers could grab coffee and a doughnut and watch the crowds passing by- ten bodies lie washed in blood. Nobody else would be ordering food there tonight, Peter thought. Olivia rushed over to interview the ashen-faced cashier. Walter bent over one victim, then another, examining every orifice with gloved hands and collecting samples in small, plastic containers.

A customer, a man in his early fifties, who Colonel Broyles was questioning, threw a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Peter," Broyles said, "Would you mind escorting Mr. Harrison to the men's room?"

"Sure. C'mon, sir, right this way." Peter motioned for the man to follow him. Cargo pilot, wild land fireman, FBI consultant, and now…bathroom escort, Peter thought, rehearsing his eclectic resume as he walked Mr. Harrison to the men's restroom. He hoped the guy wouldn't throw up before they got there.

Once in the restroom, Mr. Harrison quickly placed one hand against the wall, bracing himself as he huddled over a urinal.

Poor guy, Peter thought when suddenly the lights flickered several times before turning out altogether. "A blackout- wonderful timing. Hold on, sir. I'll open the door." Peter walked blindly in the direction of the door. Strong arms grabbed him abruptly from the back and a cloth covered his nose and mouth. Chloroform, Peter thought as he tried to struggle free. It was the last thought he had before losing consciousness.

**12**

Peter opened his eyes and blinked hard several times. Everything was fuzzy for the first few minutes. He was lying on a bed. The mattress was firm and somehow familiar. As his vision came back into focus, he felt a presence. There was Newton, sitting in a chair next to the bed. "Hello, Peter."

It was vain to put up a fight. Three other men, shape-shifters probably, stood glaring down at him. "We have to stop meeting like this, Newton," Peter said smugly. He sat up. His head still felt woozy. "Is the Secretary going to be joining us again?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid- at least, not in person. He does want to speak with you, however. Please cooperate. We don't want to treat you roughly."

"No, no, we don't want that, Peter said sarcastically. "Your guys were so gentle at the airport. By the way, what's with the robots from hell?"

Newton stood. "Simply? A diversion."

"To get me?"

"Yes. I regret that so many people had to be hurt."

"Hurt? Fifteen people are dead."

"Hundreds of people are dead on the other side- starvation, plagues, oxygen deprivation. In times of war, things like our robots are regrettable, but necessary." Newton checked his watch. "Come with me, Peter. The Secretary is waiting."

As Peter followed Newton down a hallway and into another room, he realized that the place was familiar- it was the house at Reiden Lake, the house where he had lived with his parents, both sets, in both universes. The room where Newton was leading him had been Walter's home office slash library. Newton indicated a modern, beige loveseat with a wave of his hand. "Have a seat, please."

Peter obeyed. Before him was what looked like a large, flat screen television.

"What's this?" Peter asked. "Time for reruns of _Mad Men_? Have you seen _Invasion_ _of the Body Snatchers _by any chance?"

Newton didn't answer. Instead he flipped a switch on the side of the contraption.

Walternate materialized on the screen. "Hello, son."

The man looked stern and commanding. He wore a dark grey suit and silk tie. Peter shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "Hello."

"You left rather abruptly, Peter. You should have given me an opportunity to explain."

"Explain? What's there to explain? You brought me back home to destroy this world. You lied to me. I understand perfectly."

Walternate's jaw clinched. "Do you?" he said doubtfully. "Do you understand what it's like to come home one evening to find that your only child- your sick little boy- has been kidnapped, stolen out of his mother's arms? And once you're able to get him back home, over two decades later, he chooses loyalty to the man who stole him rather than to his own parents. Do you understand what it's like to watch your world deteriorate: plant life drying up, the food supply dwindling, and hundreds of people dying as wormholes open, swallowing city blocks? Do you understand, son, what it's like to have the whole world looking to you to save them? And they have no idea how bad things really are- how bad it's going to get. No, Peter, I don't think that you understand at all."

Peter swallowed hard. His throat was dry. What he would've given for a drink about now. "It has been difficult for all of us. But, revenge isn't the answer. We should put personal differences aside and work together to repair both universes. Have you tried to find solutions other than destroying this world to save your own? Share with us what you know. Together, I'm sure that we can find another way."

"There are no other solutions. Our worlds are colliding; two objects cannot occupy the same space. It's simple physics. You have to choose, Peter. I could bring you back forcibly, but I won't. I wanted to give you one more chance." Walternate's face softened ever so slightly. "I don't want you to die. Reconsider and come home."

"There has to be another way!" Peter was startled by the volume and intensity of his own voice. He couldn't accept a life without Olivia. He couldn't accept a life without Walter. For all the man had done wrong, of one thing Peter was absolutely certain: Walter loved him. Walter had meant well. Walter was repentant. Walter-

"Come home, son."

Peter stared intently into Walternate's eyes. "I'm sorry. I am home."

Walternate's face hardened again. Peter was a little bit afraid, but he'd always been good at hiding his emotions when he needed to- it was the con man in him; it was emotional survival. Suddenly Walternate's image vanished.

Peter turned and saw Newton looking down at him with disapproval.

"What's next?" Peter asked, half dreading to hear the answer.

"You chose, Peter. You'll share the same fate as your Olivia. The same fate as Dr. Bishop."

A shape-shifter rushed into the room. "Sir, they found us."

"Of course," Newton said, "I knew that they would, eventually." Newton brandished a pistol from the inside of his coat. "Good-bye, Peter. I doubt we'll see each other again."

"What a pity," Peter said as Newton left him still sitting on the sofa. They took the strange Star Trek like screen with them.

About two or three minutes later, Peter heard a familiar voice at the front door. "FBI, open up."

Before Peter could "open up," Olivia had kicked in the door, holding her gun steady with both hands.

That's my girl, he thought. "What took you so long?" he asked her.

Olivia's eyes darted from Peter to every corner of the room. "Don't tell me- still a step behind?"

"Unfortunately. No matter what I do to try to change it- we're still a step behind."

Olivia returned her gun to her coat pocket and fell into Peter Bishop's welcoming arms.

"Peter!" Walter rushed in, the anxiety showing on his face melted into relief at the sight of Peter and Olivia's embrace.

"I'm all right, Walter. Let's go home."


End file.
